Hard to Get
by nekonicko
Summary: From the moment Arthur Kirkland met Alfred Jones, he knew he hated him. But with a combination of Alfred's awkward charm and Arthur's reluctant enabling, can they work? Cute and drabbley. First Hetalia fic!
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there! This is the first Hetalia fanfiction (first _ever _fanfiction, actually) I've published. So it's going to be fluffy and adorable and shiz, not really that exciting. It's, essentially, a getting-my-feet-wet fic. So bear with me.**

From the moment Arthur Kirkland met Alfred Jones, he knew he hated him. Everything from the man's bomber jacket, to his infuriatingly blue eyes, to his dazzling smile, screamed _I'm American and I can do whatever the hell I want._ Not that Arthur had anything against Americans, per se. It was that carefree, devil-may-care attitude that irked the Englishman. Alfred knew no responsibility, no inhibitions. The _freedom_ with which he lived his life angered Arthur to no end.

Arthur had to work hard to put himself through college; Alfred had a free ride because he was the star of the football team. Arthur had to study late into the night to keep his grades up; Alfred partied until the wee hours of the morning but still managed a 3.2 GPA. Seeing that football star from afar, Arthur couldn't help but feel a sting of jealousy and rage. Why couldn't _he_ do everything as effortlessly as Alfred Jones?

So it was understandable that Arthur was a little surprised, a little embarrassed, and more than a little pissed off when Alfred plunked himself down across from Arthur while he was studying in the library.

"What are you doing here, Jones?" Arthur said after a silence, his voice carefully icy. He did not look up from his laptop, but somehow he _sensed_ Alfred's smile. He could imagine the dim light from the lamps overhead glinting on those flawless pearly whites. He could imagine the twinkle in those damn _perfect _sky-blue eyes, even behind the glasses. Maddeningly, he felt his cheeks heat up slightly. _Get a hold of yourself, Kirkland! _

"Oh, just studying for an exam tomorrow." His voice was airy, carefree. Arthur felt his brows lower into a deep scowl. The charm was turned up high, and he refused to succumb to it. He also had no patience for small talk, since he had an exam to study for as well. So with a frustrated sigh, he snapped his laptop shut and turned his full attention to the football player.

He had forgotten how vexingly _attractive _Alfred Jones was. True, they had rarely talked before this moment, but Arthur had always been very _aware_ of Jones. He was just the sort of person that people couldn't help but _notice. _He had wonderful, constantly windswept dirty blond hair. He even had the cutest little cowlick that, somehow, never drooped. Behind the glasses were the infamous, beguiling azure eyes. And below the eyes was a full, constantly smiling mouth with lips that Arthur just couldn't take his eyes off of. Rounding it all off with an athletic body and a laid-back, charming personality – Arthur could understand why Jones was so popular with the ladies. _It's just meaningless lust, _Arthur told himself firmly as he felt the tips of his ears reddening at his traitorous thoughts. _I refuse to let Jones manipulate me because of my sexuality. There is absolutely _nothing _between us._

"I'm in no mood to play games with you, Jones," Arthur snapped to cover up his blushing. "What is it you want from me? I have _important _things to do." He tried to insert as much pompousness into it as he could, but the overall effect was ruined by his goddamned blush. Alfred's mouth twisted into a smirk, and Arthur's heart beat a little faster. He mentally kicked himself.

However, the smile faded until Alfred was wearing a serious expression that was rarely ever seen on his face. Arthur stared at him, bemused. _I wish he would spit it out already. What is wrong with this boy? _

"Arthur." The single name, spoken in that rich baritone, sent shivers up and down Arthur's spine. Blue eyes caught green ones and held them. There was another silence, then: "Arthur, would you please be my boyfriend?"

**See? Short and drabbley. I hope you liked, anyway. :3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again. So more USUK and drabbleyness. I'm gonna take my time with this fic, since it's really all fluff and drama/angst. Ahh angst. Thanks to anyone who took the time to read my story!**

There was a long moment of silence before Arthur could even get a single thought through his head. And that thought definitely wasn't comprehensible. A full minute later, he managed to make a strangled noise in the back of his throat that sounded sort of like a dying animal. Alfred raised an eyebrow at him, a small, nervous smile playing around the edges of his mouth. Suddenly, Arthur wanted very, very much to say _yes_ – but he couldn't. He just couldn't. _I don't even know this guy. He might just be playing a prank on me. I'm supposed to hate him! _That and a thousand other reasons to refuse Alfred ran through his trusting himself to speak, Arthur just shook his head quickly.

Alfred's face fell slightly, but otherwise he seemed fairly calm. "Um, alright," he said agreeably. Arthur felt alarm run through him when he heard the slight tremor running through Jones' voice. The American got ahold of himself, however, and cleared his throat quietly. "I'll, just – I'll go." And with that, the football player got up and hurried away.

Arthur was left in his seat, studies forgotten, blinking dumbly after him.

"He said no." Alfred slumped miserably at the bar, head in his arms. "Who am I kidding, he probably thought I was playing some sort of prank on him. He hates me, Francis –!"

"Nonsense, Alfred," his friend replied dismissively, deftly picking up four glasses in one hand and beginning to clean them. "The poor boy probably got confused, especially if you did the stupid thing and straight up asked him." Alfred's head snapped up, tear-faced. His puppy-dog look of confused realization sent a smirk flitting across Francis's face before the Frenchman could stop himself. "Really, Alfred. You truly are dimwitted sometimes." After a pause, his American friend took it in stride and slumped over again. Francis tutted, tapping Alfred's hair with the tip of a polished wineglass. "Just give Arthur some time. He's the type of person who loathes change and will fight tooth and nail against it, until he accepts it. Don't give up."

Alfred raised his head again, hopeful. "You really think so, Francis?"

He nodded. "I _know _Arthur, Alfred. You forget that we grew up together in Europe." He made a delicate noise of disgust. "I still can't fathom how you can stand him, let alone _like _him. But I digress. Good relationships don't happen just like in the movies, Jones. You have to work at it. Get closer to Arthur; become friends with him before you ask him out again. And for God's sake, be _patient_."

Alfred's face set in a determined little frown. Francis couldn't resist chuckling quietly. He was going to enjoy watching Alfred and Arthur in the next few months. They were both so thick, it was laughable. "You're right, Francis! If I am patient, I'm sure Arthur will definitely say yes. I'll ask him again tomorrow, then!" And with that he peeled himself off Francis's counter and raced out. Francis gazed after him, shaking his head in exasperation before going back to his other bar customers.

A few minutes later Alfred was back, panting heavily. "And remember our agreement! _Don't tell Arthur any of that!_" Francis waved at him absently, chuckling to himself.

**Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! Thanks for all the favs/views and stuff. I honestly thought I wouldn't get anything, since this fic is so short! So thank you, everyone who read my first fic! :) And a special shoutout to emeraldcarrot, for being my first reviewer _ever_! You get a... thank you. xD **

**Anyway, new chapter here we go. Enjoy~**

"Bloody _Alfred Jones_ asked me out!" Arthur sputtered, moaning piteously into his drink. "_Alfred Jones, _Francis!" Francis raised his eyebrows, trying to act surprised and failing miserably. Arthur didn't notice his reaction, however, as the latter was completely plastered. "Why did he do it? Did he …" Arthur leaned in, bloodshot eyes suddenly wide with terror. "Did he _know_ I had a damn crush on him?" Before Francis could open his mouth to reply, Arthur took another shot of scotch and moaned again.

Casting his eyes to the heavens as if to say, _Save me from these idiots_, Francis sighed and grabbed the next shot from Arthur's grasp before he could take a drink. "I'm sure he didn't know, Arthur. Now shut up, you're causing a ruckus." Arthur blinked at him for a few seconds before suddenly bursting into loud, obnoxious tears right there at his bar. Francis couldn't help but recoil, shocked. It had been awhile since Arthur had been _quite _this hammered, he remarked to himself with amusement. "Arthur! Get ahold of yourself, now."

Sending an apologetic grimace to Antonio, who worked the cashier, Francis came out from behind the bar and slung Arthur's arm over his shoulder, helping him up from his chair. "I don't need your help, you bloody frog," Arthur mumbled, thought he leaned on Francis heavily. Francis's lip curled a little, for he was neither covered in blood nor amphibian. He was tempted to drop the ungrateful Englishman right there and let him crawl home. But fat, pathetic tears were still dripping from his face and he hiccupped, trying to hide his sobs.

"Shush, Arthur," Francis muttered, trying to sound scornful and comforting at the same time. "I'm helping you home." There was no reply from Arthur, only dazed sniffling. Francis felt his curiosity perk up. "What about this silly American football player is making you cry, anyway?" They were out in the street now. It was already past midnight, so the streets were almost deserted. Francis loaded the drunk young man into his car. Arthur had subsided into tiny sniffles and hiccups.

After a silence, Arthur slouched down in his seat and gazed sullenly out to the street. "He asked me out," he said in a much calmer voice, although his speech was still slurred and his nose ran. "And I wanted to say _yes_, but I didn't." Francis glanced to his childhood frienemy, eyebrow raised. Arthur bristled, although his protest was half-hearted. "I felt like I made a big mistake, okay! You just _love _making me admit that, don't you. Frog." Francis didn't deign that with a response, merely driving and letting Arthur alone with his own thoughts. Arthur went on, seeming oblivious to Francis's presence. "I mean, I don't even _know _the bloke, but he asked me out. I had every bloody right to be cautious, ya'know? So I said, I said, no." His green eyes were filling with tears again. He grabbed Francis's arm suddenly, making the Frenchman flinch. "What should I do, Francis? I-I… I really wanted to say yes!"

"Yes, yes I know," Francis said soothingly, carefully peeling Arthur's fingers off him. "Maybe you should go back to him and tell him that you really meant to say yes? I'm sure Alfred would understand." Arthur seemed to think about it for a moment, then shook his head obstinately. Francis sighed, unsurprised.

"I don't even _know _him," Arthur insisted. "I can't go around going out with any bloke that crosses my path. And why would a football player date a literature major, anyway? 'S not right, Francis!" Francis shook his head, but decided that it was probably wise to say nothing. The rest of the ride to Arthur's apartment passed in silence. Francis helped Arthur out, then led him to his door. Mumbling a reluctant "Thanks," Arthur rubbed his eyes and cast a bleary emerald gaze up at Francis. "'S not true, Francis. I can't be anybody's boyfriend.. He's only fakin'.."

Francis only patted Arthur's head and bade him goodnight. "Think on it, darling. The answer will come eventually. And I bet you it won't come when you're dead plastered." Arthur nodded, too groggy to argue. After he disappeared safely into his apartment, Francis slipped a small digital audio recorder out of his pocket, checking that he had recorded the last twenty minutes of conversation with Arthur correctly. Smiling deviously and humming to himself, he set off toward his car.

**Ohonhonhonhon, I love devious France. Anyway, thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Fluff, fluff, fluff. Sorry this one was a little late. I joined another fandom and multi-shipping is difficult, at best. ;-; **

Arthur found himself the next morning somehow in his bed, with his car keys laying on his nightstand and a splitting headache. Groaning, he checked the time and cursed when he realized that he had already missed his writing class and was twenty minutes late for his literature class. He fell ungracefully from his bed and spent the next five minutes in a feverish frenzy. He arrived thirty minutes late, trying to run a hand through his unruly blond hair and button his shirt up at the same time. The professor gave him a once-over, pointed to a seat, then continued with his lecture. Arthur slumped down and pulled out his notes, pounding head resting in his hand. The rest of the class passed in a blur, and forty-five minutes later Arthur sat outside the campus cafeteria, nursing a steaming cup of strong tea and muttering a continuous stream of curses under his breath.

"Good afternoon," a cheery voice exclaimed from behind him. Arthur jumped several feet and dropped his tea. Fortunately, none of it spilled on him. _The one thing that's gone right today_, Arthur thought grimly. "Ah, sorry!" And there was Alfred Jones, standing in front of him and scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Didn't mean to scare you like that." Arthur stared at him, momentarily stunned. The early afternoon sunlight was glinting on his golden hair, and making his eyes look bluer than usual. "Arthur?"

Arthur snapped himself out of his meandering thoughts and mustered an annoyed expression. "What is it you want from me, Jones? I'm not in the mood for your games." Taking his response as some sort of invitation, Alfred infuriated the Englishman further by taking the seat across from him.

"I'm not playing any games," Alfred replied, winking. Arthur only glared at him and picked up his tea once more. Alfred leaned the chair back easily, then let himself fall forward again, expression suddenly serious. "I want to be your friend, Arthur." Arthur only stared at him. Had yesterday been a dream? He was sure that the American had asked him out. _What was this, then? _

"And why would you want to be my friend?" Arthur finally sniffed, turning his chin up and trying to conjure his best English arrogance. "I have no wish to associate myself with your sort of people." Alfred only laughed casually.

"I want to be your friend because I love you, Arthur." He said it as if it was obvious, but above his smile his eyes were earnest. "At least, I'm pretty sure I love you. So I figured, if I couldn't be your boyfriend, I could try to be your friend, right?" Arthur only sat back and gawped at Alfred. _Where had this come from? Am I dreaming again? _He sputtered a bit before lapsing back into silence again.

Arthur Kirkland didn't believe in such silly things as love at first sight. He firmly held the belief that one had to court and know one's love before they could honestly say those three words. _There's no way he really _means _that_, he concluded. He felt irrational anger rise up in his chest. Waking up with a hangover, being late to classes, and now this? "Well, that's not happening," he growled, then stood up, spun on his heel, and strode away.

"You forgot your stuff!" Alfred called after him, indicating his cup of tea and his messenger bag. Arthur walked faster, too angry to care. _Damn _today. _Damn _Alfred Jones and his perfect eyes, perfect hair, perfect personality. _Damn it all. _

**As always, thank you for reading, alerting, reviewing, whatever you did. It gives me a lot of encouragement to keep writing. I have terrible motivation/organization when it comes to this stuff and getting such things really helps. Hope you enjoyed!**


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